


Mistletoe

by Gem_Gem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angry John, Attempt at humour, Banter, Christmas Decorations, Christmas Fluff, Friendship/Love, I'm Bad At Tagging, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Mistletoe, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Random & Short, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Short, Short & Sweet, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 09:02:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13096803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem
Summary: It took a moment, through the gathered haze of annoyance and humiliation, for John to notice that one of Sherlock’s arms was stretched up above them, and he blinked, looked up, and stared at the mistletoe dangling from the man’s long fingers.“...Whenever you’re ready,” Sherlock drawled with a shake of the plant in his grasp, forcing a scowl onto John’s face





	Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KittieHill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/gifts).



> I randomly wrote the start to this in the start of December and I didn't think it would really go anywhere, because I'm struggling heavily with a lot of stuff, as I'm sure you are all aware and sick of hearing about.  
> BUT here it is.  
> It's short and yes, has no proper end. I might add on to it but please don't hate me if I don't, or it takes me another year to do so. 
> 
> Any and all comments are appreciated!

When John turned from balancing his empty mug in the sink, amongst the plates and utensils that filled the wash basin, clinging and poised like jenga pieces in a puddle of dirty water, he almost punched Sherlock in the face. The man, who had been lounging on his chair with a blank, far-away look, was now standing right behind him, waiting for him to turn. John glared, face flushed in embarrassment from the previous hitch of his breath and near shout, and fisted his hands tightly fisted. How was Sherlock able to easily creep up on him so often? John had been in the army, for Christ’s sake.

It took a moment, through the gathered haze of annoyance and humiliation, for John to notice that one of Sherlock’s arms was stretched up above them, and he blinked, looked up, and stared at the mistletoe dangling from the man’s long fingers.

“...Whenever you’re ready,” Sherlock drawled with a shake of the plant in his grasp, forcing a scowl onto John’s face. “It’s the real thing too. Not plastic or anything. I went out and cut it.”

“Okay,” John replied with a narrowed glance back at the sprig. “ _And_?”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow, “And...” he murmured, wiggling it again.

John lifted his own eyebrow in reply and moved around him, “Instead of cutting twigs of mistletoe to wave in my face, perhaps you could do something more useful?”

“This _is_ useful.”

“And how, exactly, is _this_ useful?” John shot back angrily, waving his hand to where Sherlock was and then gesturing to the room, at the scattered books, the messy pile of envelopes, the haphazard position of both his and Sherlock’s laptops, and the clutter of mugs and plates left by the detective that had yet to be collected and washed by John. The living room looked like a bomb had hit it. A bomb filled with filth and Christmas decorations. “ _Look_ at this mess, Sherlock. Just look. - I’m not some sodding housewife. I will _not_ do all the housework. I won’t clean up after you and cook for you. You need to start pulling your own damn weight. _Especially_ at Christmas.” John snatched up a note he’d been making with one hand, and a wad of Christmas cards with the other. “For example, instead of doing fuck all, how about you write out some cards for our friends and family?” He threw the cards at Sherlock’s chest, much to the man’s bemusement. “Or, better yet, help me plan, find and buy presents for those we hold dear.” The note, now crumpled in his fist, was thrown next, catching Sherlock on the chin. “Do something, _anything_ , that you’re supposed to do and stop pissing about!”

Sherlock tilted his head, “Done with your little tantrum now?”

“ _No_ ,” John shot back with a tight grin. “No, I’m not done. Far from it, Sherlock. And my ‘little tantrum’ will sure to grow quite _fucking_ large if you don’t move yourself!”

“I fail to see how it’s my responsibility to--”

John marched up to him, a second away from chinning the infuriating man, “ _Don’t_ pull that shit,” he hissed. “You see it _very_ well. I’m not falling for your _I-don’t-get-social-normal-people-things_ shtick. You know _exactly_ why we do this, what it means, and how you could help. You _know_!”

With a pursing of his mouth, Sherlock glared and exhaled through his nose, waiting for John to step back and almost begin pacing before he spoke again, “I got _mistletoe_.”

“ _Sherlock_ , I swear to God—”

“I went out of my way,” Sherlock cut in, “to get some mistletoe.”

John paused, let himself breath deeply, furiously, for a moment, and then ripped the plant from Sherlock’s fingers, throwing it aside, “That’s _not enough_!” he shouted, glowering at the twitch of Sherlock’s expression. “And you can wipe that kicked puppy look off your face, it won’t work on me. Not now. Not when I’ve had to endure all of your bullshit! - You’re not a stropping sixteen year old, or a bloody toddler for that matter. You have responsibilities, Sherlock. You have _shared_ responsibilities! Ones that come with being a boring, normal adult.”

“And buying asinine presents for Christmas is part of those responsibilities is it?” Sherlock scoffed, strolling over to retrieve the twig of leaves and berries.

“Put that fucking thing _down_.”

“I bought it for a reason. I have use of it,” Sherlock told him and walked back over, lifting it above their heads. “It’s _useful_.”

John could feel his eye spasm, “I will punch you. And _burn_ it.”

Sherlock clenched his jaw and stepped closer, “I went out of my way, to get this stupid, ridiculous, life-sucking plant because it was _useful_ to me. To us. Because it _meant_ something – The decorations, the cards, the gifts, they don’t _mean_ anything and hardly have much use, if anything at all! In time they will break or crumble and wither, will be replaced or forgotten, locked up in an attic or sold in a car boot sale. But this, _this_ , can’t be. This _will_ remain. This means more. Don’t you see?”

“No! As usual, I don’t _bloody_ see. Stop talking in riddles, stop being a dick!” John told him with a frown, almost postive his head would explode with the gathering headache. “Surely this stupid plant will wither and die? How does what you say make any sense?”

“ _It’s not the plant_!” Sherlock stressed loudly, clenching his eyes shut and then trying again by lowering his voice and taking a steadying breath, face unusually flushed. “The mistletoe is just the instrument I’m using to get at what matters, to bestow a gift that means more than some mass-produced object from a store. It _is_ useful. It has a _reason_. What it’s used for is what will last, not the plant itself.”

John stared at the look of expectancy on Sherlock’s face and gave the annoying twig a glimpse, “ _You_ want to bestow a gift yet you look to _me_ as if...”

“Well, I...I thought it best to allow you a choice, I suppose,” Sherlock mumbled, something in his face flickering and dying. “You don’t have to accept gifts, after all. You can turn it away. Turn _me_ away.”

“You’re right egotistical, do you know that?” John snorted, ignoring the odd clench and twist in his gut right as he said it.

Sherlock frowned in confusion, “Yes, in some ways, but I don’t--”

“Acting as though anything from _you_ should be seen as a ‘gift,’” John told him with a curl of his lip, turning away as Sherlock’s frown got deeper. “I don’t want your stupid ‘gift.’ It’s not exactly unique or special, is it, what you’re offering? Hm? You kiss Mrs Hudson _all_ the time! And you’d do _anything_ for a case, in whatever role you pick up and play. I don’t know what I’d be catching! – Oh, and not to mention, though I don’t know _how_ many times I’ve already said this, but, I’m _not_ gay! And if I were, I’d not be interested in a selfish, frustrating, weird-looking, narcissistic, lazy, dickhead like _you_.” When Sherlock opened his mouth to retort, John waved him off, stepping back close in a rush of fury. “No. _Don’t_. I don’t care, Sherlock. I don’t care what you thought, what you’d seen or heard. I don’t _care_ if it was just going to be a ‘friend’ kiss, for an experiment, or a way for you to show that you care and appreciate me. I’m _not_ kissing you. You’re my friend, my _best friend_ unfortunately, and I have no desire to fucking kiss you. So bin that disgusting plant and do something I’ve _asked_ you to do for once!”

“You’re misunderstanding this entire thing,” Sherlock told him with a look of aggravation and a roll of his eyes. “And I never said you were gay. No one _ever_ says it. They just--”

“ _I don’t care_!”

Sherlock sighed and when John turned on his heel to move away from him, to go somewhere, anywhere, that wasn’t there, Sherlock took his arm gently, “Stop being difficult!”

“ _Me_? I’m the difficult one? Have we entered the Twilight Zone?”

“ _John_...”

“And I’m _not_ misunderstanding anything. After you stopped with your damn riddles, I understood completely. I understood, just like you wanted me to. Just like a good _sidekick_.”

Sherlock groaned, “Don’t start with that sidekick thing again.”

“Well, it’s true!”

“No it’s _not_.”

“It bloody well _is_!”

Sherlock snorted with a small laugh, mouth quirked, “You’re not my sidekick, John. You never were and _never_ will be,” he said. “I don’t see you as my subordinate.”

“That’s what _people_ see me as. Or they don’t see me at _all_ ,” John said, though he huffed and rubbed his face, feeling sorry for himself. “Look, I...suppose I can see the good gesture in it all. You obviously noticed that I’ve been...struggling with...certain things the past few months and came to the conclusion that I need to see some sort of effort, interest and affection from you, so you...came up with this bloody mistletoe thing.”

“...That’s quite a nice deduction but, um, very wrong,” Sherlock murmured with a small smile, not phased when John narrowed his eyes at him. “It’s good though. Rather a sound theory. Nothing _overly_ bad about it. It’s just--”

“Wrong. Yeah. I heard you.”

Sherlock hummed and closed the distance between them again, still holding the blasted plant, “I actually hadn’t noticed you had been struggling. I wasn’t aware there was any struggling at all going on, in fact.”

John crossed his arms defensively, “Right – Well, I’m not telling you about it.”

“Fine,” Sherlock agreed with a nod, shifting on his feet when the silence between them stretched for another second or two. “You know, you’re just as selfish as I am. Everyone is a little selfish. You have to be. You _need_ to be. You can’t forever think of others. It’s a tad unhealthy.” He smirked at John’s responding huffed grunt. “ _You_ can also be frustrating. _Very_ frustrating. _So_ _very_ frustrating.”

“ _I get it_.”

Sherlock looked him over, “And you’re a bit weird-looking too. Surely you’ve looked at yourself in the mirror?”

Unimpressed and riled, John tilted his head, “ _Thanks_.”

“ _And_ there are times you’re lazy. Spending _far_ too many hours sat in front of the television with your feet up and your lap covered in biscuit crumbs--”

“ _Sherlock_!”

“And you’re a dickhead,” Sherlock finished. “A big one. _Particularly_ today.”

John looked up into Sherlock’s grinning face and felt his mouth twitch, “Yeah. Yeah I am...”

“You’re misunderstanding the situation,” Sherlock explained slowly with a calm tone of voice, “because it’s not what you thought, it’s not what you _think_. I’m not doing this because I’m egoistical. I’m not doing it like I would to Mrs Hudson or for a case. I’m not doing it because I think you’re gay. I’m not doing this as a friend, for an experiment, or a way to show I care and appreciate you. And I’m _definitely_ not doing it as a good gesture to combat your struggles, struggles I’ve been apparently blind to.” He lifted the mistletoe again and came forward so their bare toes were just about brushing. “I’m doing this to _show_ you and _gift_ you... me. _All of me_. Offering, starting and sealing it with a kiss.”

“...How long have you been planning all of this?” John asked as he felt the world jolt and tip, head spinning like a top at what Sherlock was saying, what he was offering. He took a shaky breath, uncrossing his arms and looking at the plant, then into Sherlock’s searching eyes. “Look, um, this is... _a bit_...sudden. And if...if you’re saying what I _think_ you’re saying--”

“I am.”

“--Then I...I need to, uh, to just...” John gestured helplessly around, seeing the mess that still surrounded them and very keen to get it sorted. “I’m a bit busy and, you know, so...”

“If it helps I could say the words,” Sherlock suggested with an accommodating lift of his brow.

John blinked, shaking his head in puzzlement, unable to really concentrate any more on what he was saying and it even meant, “What words?”

“Ones that normally accompany what I’ve expressed to you,” Sherlock told him, swinging the mistletoe with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “You’d like that, yes?”

“Can we...can I just...” John wandered away to sit on the sofa, pushing the rolls of wrapping paper aside to fall to the floor and layer it in reds and golds scattered with stencils of Christmas trees and snowflakes. “ _Where_ has this all come from?”

With a playful swoon, Sherlock put his hand on his chest, “From in here John--”

“ _Sherlock_ , this...I mean I...” John threw up his arms. “I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to...to say or...” Clearing his throat, John scrubbed both of his hands across his thighs nervously. “I need to--”

“No, no,” Sherlock interrupted, moving over and leaning down. “ _Don’t_. Don’t ‘think.’ It never ends well for you.”

John shot the detective a glare, “Thanks a lot.”

With a shrug, Sherlock tilted his head and then straightened up, “How about I change things for you then? Make things easier. Make things _even_ easier, I should say?” he asked, waving whatever John was about to say away dismissively. “The first one can be a test, and the second one can be an answer, how about that? Instead of deciding on the spot, as evidently you cannot do, then you can...see how you ‘feel’ after a small tester.”

“You know, I may just strangle you instead,” John told him. “Yeah, I might just decide to strangle you. Right here, right now.”

“ _Kinky_ ,” Sherlock drawled with a teasing smirk. “Though it might be a little _too_ sudden for that just yet, don’t you think? A bit too fast to be thinking such _naughty_ things, John.”

John pushed up suddenly and stepped over, face flushed, “How about a good ol’ fashioned clout!” he announced and backed Sherlock into the kitchen partition. “ _All_ of this is too sudden and too fast, Sherlock! - There was _no_ sign of all this a week ago. Christ, even a _day_ ago!” He pointed at him, swatting the dangling mistletoe aside when Sherlock brought it over. “And _someone_ here said something about being ‘married to the work! Or am I remembering that wrong?’”

“Many people are married to their work, that doesn’t mean they can’t choose to have something else as well. An...addition to their work-filled lives,” Sherlock shot back at him. “And it’s not like it’s a _real_ marriage. It’s not as if the Work will slap me in the face and go cry in a corner for this. - You’re as much married to it as I am, at any rate. It’s basically polyamory. Or a throuple.”

“What the bloody hell is a _throuple_?”

Sherlock laughed throatily, “I thought you were up-to-date on the latest slang?”

“I _never_ said that.”

“Mm, no, not out loud,” Sherlock said with a haughty sniff.

John rolled his eyes and after shooting an annoyed look at the rustling sprig, he jutted his jaw out, “Stop deflecting.”

“I’m not.”

“You keep cracking poor excuses for jokes or trying to make light of the situation, which you _can’t_. This is a _big_ thing, Sherlock. And I know that you’re _just_ as anxious about this, because if...if I...” John let out a long breath and squinted at Sherlock’s face, at his flitting gaze and tightening mouth, deciding to stop talking to save them both from awkwardness. “Give me a moment here, yeah?”

“I’ve given you _months_ ,” Sherlock replied with a rotation of one shoulder, voice flat and slightly devoid now that he’d dropped his pretence. “What’s _one_ more moment...”

“No, no, that isn’t any better, Sherlock. _Don’t_ shut yourself off--”

Sherlock leaned down the last few inches quickly, forcing John’s head back so they didn’t bump noses, “ _Kiss me_ ,” he whispered. “Or don’t...”

“It’s _not_ that simple.”

“It _really_ is,” Sherlock argued and brought the mistletoe close again, upturning it between them with a twirl like a petite bouquet of flowers and then, as before, brought it above their heads. “Go on.”

John grit his teeth, keeping their gazes locked as he shifted his stance, shaking the quiver from his hands and pulling back his shoulders, “What if—?”

“ _No_ thinking.”

“I _have_ to—”

“Nope.”

“ _Sherlock_ —”

“John.” Sherlock arched his eyebrow and canted his head to one side gently, darting his eyes down to John’s mouth. When he looked back up, he seemed deflated and defeated, as if reading the answer from the creases in John’s lips. Perhaps he could? “Not to rush things but my arm is getting rather tired--”

Surging up, John all but butted Sherlock as he squashed their noses and mouths together, knocking their teeth and chins in the process. It was clumsy and awkward, but when John pulled back with a grimace ready to apologise and take it all back he found Sherlock slack-jawed and dreamily staring at him. He looked enraptured. With his expression open and vulnerable, and as genuine as John had ever seen it, he seemed positively infatuated. John hadn’t seen such a look on his face before. Never had he seen Sherlock so dazed and delighted. Not unless it was linked to a murder, of course.

“Um...Sherlock?” John asked, coughing and then clicking his fingers in front of his friend’s face. “You...okay?” When there was no answer, John frowned and tapped Sherlock’s cheek, flinching when the mistletoe tumbled from a loose grasp. “ _Hey_...you still with me?”

Concerned and faintly amused, John pressed Sherlock’s arm down from it’s hanging position and tried to tug him around, pressing him into one of the kitchen chairs just as he stirred back to reality, “What are you doing?” Sherlock husked, blinking in rapid sequence from the change of location and frowning at the emptiness of his hand. “Where’d it go?”

“On the floor,” John told him, bending for it and then tossing it onto the table idly. “And I moved you to somewhere more comfortable.”

“ _Why_?”

“Because you spaced out on me, that’s why! Why else?”

Sherlock looked briefly sheepish and then shifted, “...This _isn’t_ more comfortable.”

“It’s better than standing up for God knows how many hours – I had no idea how long you’d be gone for.”

“I’d rather be standing up,” Sherlock told him. “Bit better and _a lot_ more comfortable, what with my growing erection.”

“Yeah well I—Wait, _what_?” John stared owlishly down at Sherlock’s lap, incapable of stopping the instinctive reaction, and promptly jerked away when he realised what he was looking at, twisting his back to the man. “You...didn’t have to inform me of that, you know.”

Sherlock hummed, “Interesting that I should react so quickly. It’s been years since I filled out so much in such a small amount of time--”

“ _Oh my God_ , shut up!”

“Is it healthy?”

“I’m _going_ to punch you...”

Sherlock moved behind him and John peeked over with a glare to watch him push to his feet, “At least this is evidence that I was right about my feelings toward you,” Sherlock murmured, adjusting himself with a pull at the crotch of his trousers and a leg shake. John turned away again, unsure whether he wanted to laugh or swear. “So, uh, was that peck the tester or...or did you choose?”

“I’m not talking to you whilst you have a stiffy, Sherlock,” John replied, rubbing his eyes and then going over to pick up the rolls of wrapping paper, putting them aside for something to do.

“...I see.”

“No, no, _don’t_ say it like that. I haven’t...we haven’t...I _just_ need to...” John ended up gesturing and waving his arms around animatedly without meaning, only making Sherlock more irritated and sour from the look of his twisting mouth. “ _Stop_! Just...stop. I...I _need_ to...get my head around—You _can’t_ just put this all on me and then tell me... _that_...and expect me to just...to just... _I don’t know what_!”

Sherlock nodded but looked sullen, “You didn’t react the same. You didn’t enjoy it, I get that.”

“What? No I—well, _yeah_ but...but that’s...”

“Your fault. You essentially headbutted me,” Sherlock added on for him, looking smug at the blush that John could feel exploding across his cheeks. “It’s all right though. I like it rough. And I always knew you’d be a little over eager the first time.”

“Tosser.”

“Not yet.”

John snorted out a laugh, “ _Don’t_...don’t make me laugh, you bastard. This _isn’t_ funny.”

“It’s a little funny...”

Sighing, John let the silence gather longer than it had before and then went over to him, “Listen... _enough_ with the jokes and all of that, I...um...I didn’t react or feel anything, no. I’m sorry. I just...” he trailed off, feeling drained and strange about it all, but then drew in his courage sufficiently to take Sherlock’s head in his hands and kiss him again. This time, however, he went in slowly, giving Sherlock what he hoped to be a better, softer, peck on the lips, and pulled back to find Sherlock just as enraptured as before.

“...You didn’t have to do it again,” Sherlock mumbled dazedly some moments later. The skin of his face and neck were scorching hot to the touch and his pupils were wide in blatant interest. “It’s...okay. The first time was...despite what I said it was...I...um... - I wasn’t even holding the mistletoe.”

“Yeah...I know,” John told him, unsure what he felt about being the object of Sherlock’s clear affections. Stroking the high arch of the man’s cheekbones, John gave him another kiss, almost impulsively so, and then petted the curls brushing at Sherlock’s ears and nape. “I, um, cherish the...the, uh, the gift you’ve ‘bestowed.’ All right? - Now, _please_ , just for a few moments, just for _today_ for heaven’s sake, help me out a tad and clean up after yourself? Yeah?”

Sherlock scowled and snagged hold of John’s waist as he went to move away, “I could say the words? They’d help? _I’ll say them_ , John. I can say them to you.”

“No, you—that isn’t necessary.”

“I’ll say them,” Sherlock whispered and swallowed with a grimace of insecurity. “You might react then? And if not--”

John patted his arm cumbersomely, “There’s, um, no need. Really. It’s fine.”

With an infuriated nod, Sherlock looked down and aside, “Mrs Hudson is in need of new slippers, gloves, and coat. Or you could get her some more baking trays,” he began to list in a mutter “Lestrade, if you want to buy him something, needs a new watch. Mike needs new glasses really, but I suppose you can’t give him them, so--”

“Okay, good. I have something for Mike so that’s...fine. Yeah, good,” John told him. “Thanks though.”

Sherlock huffed and brought his gaze back to John, “You’re welcome,” he said, sounding very grumpy, if not a bit snarky. Letting John go, he then shuffled over to the kitchen table, picked up the mistletoe, and with a sly glance, slipped it behind his ear. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

“Um. _No_ , no you will _not_ ,” John glowered, rushing to cut Sherlock off and swing him around before he had the chance to dart to his bedroom. “No, no, no! _What_ did I tell you?”

“Quite a lot of things. Mostly though I think you were turning me down...however it was in the most _bizarre_ way possible. What with all the kisses--”

In a flash of anger, feeling his face burning hot in an instant, John took Sherlock’s wrist in his hand and hauled the man to the sink, “Do some _housework_! Help me out. Do _something_!”

Sherlock turned to him with a coy smirk and glanced to the mistletoe at his ear in mock surprise, “ _Oh_ , would you look at that. It’s _mistletoe_. And it’s basically above you, so, um, well, you know what that means, don’t you?”

“ _Sherlock_...for God’s sake...”

“Don’t worry, this isn’t related to my gift. I get it. It’s unrequited. You accept what I gave but you do not have anything to give in return. I understand. I do. You were just being nice. - This, well, _this_ is just pure coincidence and all about tradition.”

John almost took the plant from him as roughly and sharply as he could, yet he paused and instead counted to five, then ten, and exhaled, “I propose we make a new tradition,” he heard himself mumble. It had the desired effect. Sherlock paused in consideration and waited, bright eyes alight with interest. “A Baker Street tradition. Just for this flat. Just for us. - Whenever you are here and you share in responsibilities, whenever you do some bloody housework and help me for once. Then...then, uh, then you’ll get some...affection...for it.”

“Affection?”

“Yeah. Affection. Attention. Praise.”

Sherlock smiled at him and let out a quiet laugh, “Gosh the lengths you’d go to get me to do a bit of washing up.”

“ _And_ hoovering. And dusting. And the laundry. And cleaning the sodding shower drain,” John added. “Yeah. Yeah, if this works then...then fine.”

“It’s not fine. You’re being--”

John sighed loudly, “Take it or leave it.”

Sherlock snapped his mouth closed, frowned in what John thought for a second was upset, as if he were pining for something, and then turned to the sink, rolling his sleeves up, “All right,” he agreed, taking hold of the same tea stained mug John had recently put on the top of the pile and deftly lathering it in washing up liquid as he scrubbed it clean. He looked at John as he did it, one eyebrow very slightly cocked, and once he’d swilled off suds and put it on the drying rack, he turned expectantly to him.

“...What?” John muttered, annoyed at the look and the overuse of washing up liquid for one item. “Carry on then.” When Sherlock moved only to lean toward him hopefully, John couldn’t stop the flare of boiling irritation that followed. “You expect a kiss for _that_? For one mug? _One_? - And I didn’t say I’d kiss you either. I...I said I’d give you affection. That could be anything from a pat on the back to a...stroke of your cheek!”

“You didn’t exactly say that I had to do _all_ the washing for you to give me affection, either,” Sherlock mentioned.

John rolled his gaze skyward, “Oh for--”

“If you’d rather not fulfil your suggestion, then I’ll just—”

The kiss was sudden and fuelled with anger, once again knocking their chins, their teeth, and squashing their noses. Sherlock melted into it, closing his eyes in relish, and became so pliant and submissive that John let the kiss linger, “ _There_ ,” he grunted when they parted, shoving Sherlock back to the sink.

After getting both his breath and composure back under control, Sherlock shakily reached to clean the next item, stopping for another kiss. John, though still peeved at the game Sherlock was playing, gave him it, unsure why he was doing so when it would be a much better idea to smack the git across the face. Their relationship, their way of communicating, understanding and living with each other was different, strange, and completely unique to anything he’d ever done or felt before, and he knew he shouldn’t give in and do what Sherlock said, but sometimes it felt like the easier option. Things always worked out in the end. Hopefully.

With each new thing cleaned, Sherlock leaned for a kiss, and John obliged, allowing them to get softer, wetter, longer, until he barely let Sherlock put the last clean dish aside before he was dragging him in and cupping his nape. They didn’t kiss immediately, just breathed, ragged and hot, then John pressed up against Sherlock’s body and passionately connected them once more, knocking the detective stumbling back across the kitchen, into one of the counters. Sherlock submitted to him, yielding to both the force and the deep kiss, and John felt powerfully eager.

“Okay,” John whispered into Sherlock’s avid, gasping mouth. “Say them.”

“...What—?”

“Say _the words_. Say them. I want to _hear_ them.”

Sherlock swallowed and leaned his head back into John’s combing fingers, “I love you.”

“Again,” John breathed, dizzy and shaken.

“ _I love you_.”

John pushed against the side of Sherlock’s face, inhaling the scent of skin and cologne, “Yeah. You do, don’t you? Good. That’s... _so_ good,” he told him, before taking a shaky step back. He needed to stop a moment and compose himself. What was he doing? What was he thinking? “Finish up with...with the cleaning then. There’s more to do.”

“Can’t we just...kiss more?” Sherlock asked, and John was hyper aware of the gaze on him while Sherlock took a trembling shuffle forwards and went to follow as John stepped back again. “Or...we could have sex?”

“... _What_?”

“...I’ve thought about it. Now and then. Off and on. More so recently - You could have me...” Sherlock let out eyes drift down over John’s body. “Or I could have you...”

John lifted his eyebrows, “ _What_?”

Sherlock squinted in uncertainty and then closed in to kiss him again, “Just kissing then. Kissing is fine,” he breathed against John’s shocked face, taking John’s hands in his own and placing them on his shoulders. “Kissing is _good_.”

“You want to...have _sex_ with me?” John repeated.

“ _Obviously_.”

“Since _when_?”

Sherlock huffed and gave the ceiling an exasperated put upon look, as if it could reply with agreement at how ridiculous John was apparently being, “I was rash to bring it up, clearly, so _please_ just forget it and smooch me. Lots.”

John couldn’t seem to get his head around it, “Why am I finding the fact you want to bed me _more_ shocking than you loving me or wanting to kiss me?”

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” Sherlock mumbled. “Or, well, you _didn’t_ , because you’re not kissing me--Why aren’t you kissing me? _Please_ kiss me.”

“I need to...do things... _other_ than that, actually. Yeah. I, uh, yeah,” John told him, turning out of Sherlock’s grasp and then gesturing around. “Clear up. And help me with the decorations—”

Sherlock sullenly harrumphed, “ _Kiss_ me and I will.”

“ _Sherlock_!”

“You started the--”

“No, _you_ started it! You and your...mistletoe and your... _face_ and your lazy annoying attitude!”

Sherlock smirked slowly and after a deliberating glance around, he hopped over to John, picking up the plant from the floor with an elegant sweep. When had it fallen there again? “Technically, it’s not the mistletoe or me and my attitude, it’s _you_. It’s _all_ you,” he said, wiggling it between them as he leaned down and gave him an Eskimo kiss instead of a real one. “You’re _extremely_ attractive in all manner of ways. You should have put a stop to that. Your charm and demeanour. And _sexy_ stride--”

“Sherlock,” John sniggered with aggravation, flushing at Sherlock’s words and closeness. He could still feel the rush of fervour through his veins and he almost gave in to it. Almost.

“If it weren’t for you being you, I’d not have bothered,” Sherlock told him.

John turned his head aside, “Yeah, well, right back at you.”

Sherlock blinked at him and then shot him a wonky, beaming grin, “Good,” he breathed, resting his nose and brow to the side of John’s face briefly. “I’ll...decorate the tree then. Someone has to attend to the top.”

“Git.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback fuels me! 
> 
> [Gem's Tumblr](http://gem-gem-bites.tumblr.com/)   
> 


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